Thursday, August 24, 2006

Day 3.1

Everything shifted tonight after about 7pm and my heart began to sink. By this point it’s midnight and I have been moving in a slow motion, car crash kind of fashion toward a black sticker all evening. I resisted taking Diazepam as I am trying to ‘feel the burn’ at the moment. Well, when I am brave enough that is. This may sound backward, but after a year of medicated numbness, sometimes it does your soul good to feel the pain - the panic rising in your chest and fear gripping your bones from every angle. The trick is not to let it go too far; the point at which you start gripping your head as the silence in your ears becomes deafening and you begin bobbing up and down in some kind of weird melodic dance that is somehow trying to help you make sense of the waves of terror that begin to engulf you. This ironically is the point at which I should call one of the emergency numbers I have taped to my wall, but talking to someone let alone asking for help is as close to reality as me eating that newly red tomato.

Unsurprisingly my fingers are itching to scratch at my hands and my face and I am as twitchy as a junkie needing a hit. The latest 'self-harm distraction concept' is wearing glued on acrylic nails that place a small physical barrier between my skin and my own fidgeting nails beneath. The need to pull them off and scratch is huge. The 'elastic band round the wrist' trick that I have been advised to try has yet to work. Snapping rubber against your skin when all you want to do is scratch your skin off is the last thing on your mind as you have to remember a) that you are wearing an elastic band and b) that you are supposed to snap it against your skin - hard.

At the moment the disjointed tappety-tap of the keyboard is keeping me distracted until my sleeping tablets kick in. Which should hopefully be in about five minutes as I have the cloying chemical taste at the back of my throat and my coordination is going all off kilter suggesting the big boys are in my system. I hate nighttime. I hate knowing that I’m going to have about 4-5 hours of interrupted sleep and spend most of my time in bed wishing it was time to get up through heavily medicated, brain stem severing, incoordination.

NowI canmake no sense ofwhat i am wrinting so i will stop. Velvety black hole of darkness here i come, move aside creepy black dot of doom.


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